


Storm and Steel

by twinklingpaopufruit



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mutants, M/M, all svt has powers, an excuse for me to write hao as storm, and jihoon as the scarlet witch, im sorry, slight junhoon - Freeform, this is a really late late late birthday present, truly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-06-30 02:03:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19843261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinklingpaopufruit/pseuds/twinklingpaopufruit
Summary: After being banished from his village, Minghao comes into his powers and is regarded as a god. It is up to Mingyu and the rest of the X-Men to bring Minghao in.





	1. Bolt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [were1993](https://archiveofourown.org/users/were1993/gifts).



When delivered into the world, a boy, the family could not have been prouder. A boy, as a first-born, signified that he would grow to provide and support the family. 

As the years passed, Minghao became a disappointment. He was skinny and slight. He lacked any strength and speed. The best that could be said for Minghao was that he never fell ill. The village was suspicious of him each time the colds and cramps seized all the children except for him. They scowled at him in the fields as they picked soybeans and moved out of the way when they saw him on the roads. 

His parents did not think of him a demon like the rest of the village; but every morning sitting around the wooden kitchen table, his parents would regretfully sigh each time he fidgeted on his designated orange plastic chair. 

Minghao was sixteen when his father summoned him into the living room. His father sat on what could barely be classified as a wooden sofa. A distant memory reminded Minghao that the seat cushions once were white but now were so dirty and flat, they only served to protect one’s bottom from splinters.

Minghao patiently stood in front of his father. His father sat hunched and had his elbows resting on his knees. He looked like a bull ready to charge for the kill. Minghao felt tempted to remove the red bandana tied around his neck, but it was the only thing protecting him from the scorching heat that had seeped inside their small home. 

“What month is it?” His father finally asked looking at him directly in the eye. 

“July,” Minghao answered curtly. 

His father hummed. He stood to his feet. He was a short man, but very built. He was all shoulders from working the animals on the field. 

He cleared his throat, loud in their home. “Son, the village wishes me to banish you,” His father said, changing the conversation quickly. 

Minghao did not respond to his father’s news. Instead, he released a startled huff. 

His father turned his back to him to the three grainy black and white pictures hanging above the sofa. Minghao stared at them too. They were pictures of the village sixteen years ago. A large river flowed in between the town. They used to be a fishing village until the drought. Every year, there would be less and less rain; and every year, the town watched the river recede until only a dry, sunken pit cut across their entire village. 

They turned to crops instead of fish. However, over the years, this did not go well either. The lack of rain made it challenging to grow anything in the dry soil. 

“The village,” His father said, “believes you are the reason, rain no longer falls.”

“How is that possible?” He did not mean to ask a question out of disrespect, but he did not see the correlation of the drought with his presence. 

“Your birth year marked the year when the rain began to slow. And as you’ve grown, there has been less rain.” His father stepped away from the pictures and turned to him again. “Now, it is July. July was always our wettest month, but it’s near August, and we haven’t seen a drop.”

“It could be a coincidence,” His voice sounded high and scratchy. 

“Maybe so.”

“Then, let me do something about it!” Minghao cried aloud. He felt sparks shoot inside his head trying to draw connections and solutions. He did not want to be banished. As much as he hated the rickety wooden stairs he had to climb to get into his house; the ugly brown rug spread out on the living room floor poorly sewed down the middle; the putrid stench of fertilizer that clung to everyone’s skin—this was his home. He could not imagine living anywhere else. “I can go get help!” Minghao finally shouted. A smile overtook his face. “Yes, let me hike to one of the towns and speak in front of council to receive aide for our village. They could provide us with more rations as we wait for the rain!”

His father turned away from him again, looking at the pictures as if they could transport him back in time. “And how long would the rations last? We only have days until the ones we have run out.”

The lack of rations was news to Minghao. His father, along with the other village elders, was in charge of rationing the food. Last, Minghao heard they still had a few weeks. 

“I’m sure if I explained our situation they could provide a month’s worth of rations. Please, father, don’t banish me. I haven’t been much use to you in the fields or building the house but you know I can speak.”

“An idiot can speak.”

“Not the way I can, you know that. It was I, who suggested switching to crops before the river dried out to give us more time. It was I, who suggested to ration the food equally among the villagers and to build a good group of men to oversee it. It was I—“

“Enough!”

Minghao clamped his mouth in a tight line. 

Silence consumed the house. In it, Minghao wondered where his mother was. Typically, she would have been back from the fields by now; unless, his father had asked her to wait outside while they discussed his banishment. 

“You have never hiked long distances before,” His father said. 

Minghao’s heart fluttered. “But I will do it, so the village goes on; so its people can live," He said resolutely. 

“Then you leave tomorrow before dawn breaks.”

The entire village stood behind Minghao the next morning. He stood with a pack over his shoulder, wishing his backpack felt heavy. The only thing in his bag was a tent and a too-flat rolling bed. The elders had denied his request to take any food or water, so whatever he found on his way to the town would have to serve as nourishment. 

“Well, I guess I will be going now.” He turned on his heel and walked along the empty river. There was no goodbye or wishful good luck except perhaps a soft call of his name from his mother, but when Minghao turned to look, his mother had her head buried in his father's shoulder. 

He stared at her for a moment and then sighed. He did not expect anyone to make an impression, but it still hurt to think the village thought so little of him.

He walked at an even pace, following the river. His father told him that the river should lead him to the center of the province. It didn’t seem overly complicated, and from what Minghao could see there did not appear to be any significant mountains that he would need to hike--silver linings. 

By the sixth hour of his journey, Minghao’s skinny legs could barely support his thin frame. Everything hurt and sucking in the air felt more difficult than usual. He didn’t stop. He couldn’t fail the village. 

When nightfall hit, Minghao finally took a rest. He collapsed on the ground, too tired to even set up his tent. He shrugged off his backpack and decided to use it instead as a pillow. 

Sleep consumed him quickly. 

Minghao stood in the field, in his hand a small pocket knife, stolen. He didn’t even remember whom he took the pocket knife from. The pocket knife’s handle was carved from oak, engraved with the image of a dragon. It was summer, and Minghao had been playing with the knife, flipping it in the air and trying to catch the handle. 

Then, another boy appeared. His name was Mingming. He was the son of the best fisherman in town—ex-fisherman, there hadn’t been any fish in the river in over a year. He was rather unpleasantly smelly in Minghao’s opinion. He caught the shine of Minghao’s pocket knife in his hand. 

“I want it,” Mingming said without threat. Minghao hated him for it. He knew what he looked like, but he still deserved to be treated fairly—to be worth threatening like all the other kids Mingming bullied.

“No,” Minghao said. 

He stepped forward. “I said, I want it.”

“It’s mine!” Minghao shouted. 

Mingming stepped close and tackled him to the ground. His knees pressed against Minghao's inner elbows, twisting to reach for the knife. It was a fairly pathetic fight. Minghao could not even roll in the dirt to defend himself. The other boy had pinned him to the ground and taken it out of his grasp. Mingming huffed in triumph, standing to his feet and pocketing the knife. 

“Freak,” Mingming said and walked away. 

Minghao lay in the field, staring up at the sky. It rained for a minute.

Minghao pushed at his backpack with a startling gasp. The booming thunder echoed in the countryside. Minghao sat up, his face scrunching as fat welts of rain slapped against his face. 

He couldn’t quite believe it. 

It hadn't rained this heavily in years. Minghao stood and looked up at the dark sky. He smiled at his luck. The rations would give them enough time now to wait for the crops to grow. 

A strange impulse overtook his body as the rain continued. It soaked through his clothes and caressed his skin. The water almost felt like it was kissing his entire body. Touch-starvation made him spread out his arms and spin. The wind gushing around him whispered sweetly in his ears. The dark clouds covering the stars blanketed him. 

A laugh tumbled out of his lips. He let the sound keep spilling from his mouth until it harmonized with the wind. 

He continued spinning until he felt his feet slip against the muddy ground. He gasped, nearly losing his footing and falling backward. He caught his momentum at the last second; and when he looked at where he nearly fell, Minghao gasped. 

The rain was plummeting quickly and hard, filling the river. A strong current had already formed. The water knocked against the edge, taking pieces of the earth with it. 

He stared at the swift current. Trepidation pervaded his body. The rain--maybe, perhaps, most possibly--he was the cause of the drought. After all, the rain had only come after he left the village.

A thundering clap could be heard from the sky. It shocked Minghao. He jumped in place and when his foot hit the ground, he slipped onto his back. The ground broke beneath him. His hands reached desperately for the edge, but the earth was too muddy that it slid against his wet fingers. He fell into the river with a loud crash. 

He tried to fight against the current, but the waves struck against his thin arms and legs. He had no strength to stay afloat. Another thunderous crash shook the sky like someone was pounding a huge anvil and dragging it across the heavens. Branched lightning lit up the dark sky. 

Minghao stared up at the sky in agony. He kicked with his legs one last time until the burn in his legs was too much. 

He sunk down the river, water inflating his lungs. 

He coughed weakly against it. 

The night sky convulsed, lightning veins spreading and then constricting into a single bolt of light. It struck down, breaking against the water and flowing to pierce straight into Minghao's body. 

Minghao's body seized. His back arched as the lightning tugged and tied him with the sky. 

He saw the sky for all its eternity, and it was unsettlingly black.


	2. Origin

Minghao woke several hours later. His body ached terribly all over. He groaned and pushed against the ground, till he was on his knees. When he looked around, he saw a village a mile away. 

Minghao grunted standing to his feet, trying to remember how he got here. 

The storm...

The village wasn't his own, but he could tell the village was similar. They had what remained of a river cutting across it--like his own, a drought had destroyed the village. 

Minghao needed to figure out where he ended up. 

With shaky legs, he took his first steps to the village. Surprisingly, each step was easier than the last. In fifteen minutes, he arrived at the village.

He spotted an elderly man sitting up on his porch, with his cane resting between his legs. He was nearly bald. A few wisps of white hair floated around the crane of his head. 

"Excuse me," Minghao called. "Can you tell me what village this is?"

The man looked down at him. His eyes trailed Minghao's body. Minghao didn't flinch--he was used to people’s judgemental eyes. 

The man told him. Minghao sighed. The storm had pushed him northward of his own village. He needed to head eastward to reach the town.

"Are you lost?" The elderly man asked him.

Minghao shook his head. "No, I just took a wrong turn." He needed to resume his journey. He needed to save his village. "Excuse me, but is there any form of transportation leading east?"

The man hummed. "We sold our last truck to pay for food. We don't have much."

"I'm very sorry to hear that. My own village is suffering too. That's why I need to head east to find help."

The elderly man, grunted as he stood. He slowly climbed down his porch so he stood in front of Minghao. "You will not find help in the east. They refuse to provide anyone aide. My sons tried two years ago, only one returned to deliver the news."

Minghao didn't have to ask what happened to the other son. "My deepest regrets," Minghao said earnestly.

The elderly man eyed him a curious eye. "Will you go back to your village and tell them the news?"

Minghao didn't hesitate, "No. I'll head further to the west then, find someone to help there. There must be a town filled with good heart."

"And if you don't find anyone there?"

"Then, I'll look somewhere else. I'll find water for my people. They must have gotten some from the storm last night. They can probably hold for a week..." Minghao's voice trailed as the man frowned.

"Storm? There was no storm last night."

"Yes, there was. The current dragged me here."

The man looked down at their empty pit. It had no water. The soil was dry. How had he gotten here?

"Come," The man said, urging him to follow. "You must be hungry."

Minghao took a step back, "I can't impose on another village."

"Don't worry," The elderly man said. "Come."

Minghao bit his bottom lip, but finally, the empty ache in his stomach made his decision. 

He followed the man into another home. There were three elderly women inside, each one with white hair braided behind their backs. They looked to be pushing ninety, but they still seemed spry for their age. One of them was stitching a garment, the cloth that same bright pink as the one she was wearing. The other one was cutting a dark blue cloth. The last one was just sitting there, hands tucked into her lap. Her eyes were cloudy, most likely from cataracts. 

She gasped when Minghao walked through the door. He wondered how much she could see because she smiled. It was very warm, despite the fact that she was missing a few teeth. 

"Another one," She said.

The one cutting stopped and stared at Minghao. She then whispered, "You sure?"

The cloudy-eyed woman stood to her feet and walked to the small kitchen they had pushed against the corner. She moved deftly, gathering a plate and filling it with food. "You know I can always tell."

The elderly man scoffed beside Minghao. "If you can tell, why didn't you sense him when he walked into the village?"

"That's because he fell," she said. "I can sense you're hungry. Sit by my sisters, I almost have your plate done." 

Minghao didn't know what to say to her comment, but he was very hungry. He sat between the women on the floor. 

"He says there was a storm, is that true?" The man asked the woman when she returned. She placed the plate directly in front of Minghao. 

"I thought I sensed one last night. I thought it was a dream."

"I'm sorry," Minghao said, interrupting her. "You sensed a storm?"

She nodded, "Eat first."

Minghao looked down at his food and stuffed a roll into his mouth.

The woman smiled again and said, "I can sense things that are different. Like you. I've only sensed a few others in my lifetime but it's always a pleasure when I meet one. I can sense you are very strong."

Minghao almost choked on his food. No one had ever called him strong. He feared the woman was crazy.

"Yes, very, very strong," she said.

"I have no strength. I can barely help in the fields without getting tired."

The woman who was stitching finally stopped and spoke. Her voice was very deep for her small frame, "She doesn't mean your physical strength. She means your abilities."

Minghao shook his head. "I don't know what abilities you are referring to."

The cloudy-eyed woman hummed, "Abilities, you know? Only something you can do. I can't sense what abilities you have, only that you have them. You are very special to have them."

Minghao scoffed. He wished he could believe her.

When he finished his food, the elderly women offered him to stay the night. Minghao couldn't refuse. Plus, he was feeling very tired. 

When he woke the next morning, he stood outside the village, looking to the west.

The elderly woman with the cloudy eyes stood behind him. "You won't find anything in that direction. Trust me. Go back home."

Minghao stared at the woman with resignation, "But I have nothing to show for the journey."

She reached up and patted his cheek. "Yes, you do," She said too cryptically for Minghao's tastes. 

So an hour later, Minghao began the journey home. 

He didn't know what they would say when he got there, coming from the wrong direction no less. They would probably call him an idiot and tell him he amounted to nothing like the freak he was. But...he had already heard those words before. He had nothing to fear. 

He arrived at his village in the late afternoon. The children spotted him first. They screamed and ran to tell the adults. 

Minghao saw his mother running toward him first. She stopped in front of him and looked up at him expectantly. "So, what did the town say?" 

Minghao shook his head, "I didn't see them."

"What?"

"I went in the wrong direction."

She stepped back, her face contorting in a way that reminded Minghao of when he was ten and everyone had been sick with the stomach flu except for him--she had hated him for a week because of it. 

"What do you mean? Your father's directions were simple!”

Minghao leaned back against the raise of her voice. She never yelled. “I just…” Minghao wanted to tell her about the storm, and the elderly women he had met but for some reason a selfish urge took hold of his mouth and decided to keep it a secret. “There was a fork in the river and I took the wrong direction and ended up back here.”

“You’re telling me you went in a circle, while we were here starving!” 

Minghao lied again, “I did. I apologize.”

“See! He’s useless and a curse on this village!” A villager shouted. “We should banish him.”

Minghao shivered as felt something like electricity run through his skin. “I’ll leave tomorrow,” Minghao said. “I’ll bring you help and won’t come back again.”

Minghao tugged on his clothes and walked down the road. He meant to head to his home but he didn’t want to see his father. If his mother was angry, then his father….

Minghao headed to the fields. It was empty, probably since nothing was growing. He laid down on the ground and looked up at the clear sky. 

For the first time, Minghao hated the village. He had tried all his life to make it better. He had gone out of his way to go on a dangerous journey with no food and water so the others could live. This is how they repaid him. 

The sky above began to cloud. Minghao hummed in distaste. He wished the clouds would just open up and release their rain like the night before. 

When nightfall hit, Minghao began to walk back home. The village seemed deserted this late at night. He wondered if this is what it would be like in another year. Would the people leave to find a home somewhere else? Or would they die here with the village?

Minghao sucked in a breath as he heard the food ration shed rattle. Minghao pressed his ear against the thin wooden panels, listening. He heard murmured voices.

“I’m telling you, you are going to get caught. You’ve taken too much!” Minghao recognized the voice, it was Mingming.

“And? Our family is hungry! How can I stand back and watch you kids starve! Your sister is sick! She needs more food to get better!” That was Mingming’s father.

“Yes, but we are putting others at risk by taking more than our share!” 

“Let the others die!”

Minghao huffed out an angry breath. Just let them die?! How could they say such a thing?! 

“But dad! You were trusted to guard the shed! What would others say?” 

“Son, you will understand someday.”

Minghao’s skin ran cold. He couldn’t believe it. It was no wonder the village was dying. It’s own people weren’t working toward a common cause. If he had a voice in the village, he would make sure none of this happened. He would rule the village fairly.

He stepped closer to the opening of the shed. His mouth fell open as he saw the man take food and worse yet, the fresh water they had stored.

Minghao stepped out of the shadows and stood in the doorway of the shed. “I can’t believe you,” Minghao said, voice quivering.

“Son, grab him.”

Mingming looked at Minghao, conflict filling his eyes. Still, Mingming reached for him. He grabbed Minghao’s wrist and easily twisted him until Minghao’s back was pressed against Mingming’s chest. Mingming held him against his body while the other hand pressed uncomfortably against his face. Minghao’s scream was muffled as he was dragged to the older man.

“You will speak of this to no one, you hear!” The man spat. He reached inside his pocket for a knife. The hilt glimmered from the moonlight revealing the dragon embroidery. It had been the knife he had found when he was a child. 

The knife was pressed against his throat. “You have already been banished, begin your journey now before I kill you.”

Minghao shook his head violently. He broke free from MingMing’s hold on his mouth. MingMing used his free hand to hold him tighter. “The village will banish you when they find out what you’ve done,” Minghao said. 

“They won’t notice.”

“I’ll let my father know then.”

“Do you think he really wants to see you after your pathetic journey?”

“I’ll make him see me. I’m not going to let you take the last rations of this village.”

The man’s eyes lit up. “I will let you take some as you leave. You will need it. Oh, don’t give me that look. What has this village done for you? Since you were born, this village has despised you. Take your revenge.”

Minghao couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Yes, he hated the village. But to let people die that was another matter entirely. It went against everything he believed. 

The air cracked. 

Suddenly, the wind picked up around him. It kicked up dust and shook the ration shed from all sides. The air cracked again this time with blue, white electricity. Mingming gasped as the electricity circled around Minghao.

Mingming quickly let go and stepped back several feet. 

Minghao felt it. Thunder, lightning—a storm brewing inside his veins.

His eyes clouded white.

He could see MingMing’s father sagged against the rice bags in fear. 

“You will leave this village,” Minghao’s voice spoke deeper than usual. Thunder burrowed underneath his vocal chords.To make his threat clear, Minghao let his body guide him. He outstretched his hand and lightning erupted from his palm. It hit the wall of the shed, immediately covering it in flames. 

Mingming and his father shrieked. They ran out of the shed.

Minghao looked upon the burning rations. Immediately, he felt guilty. He had destroyed the supplies.

How was he going to fix this?

Again, his body took control.He was lifted into the sky, crashing against the poorly made roof. Against the sky, Minghao was a speckle of crackling blues and whites. The sky was a dark grey. Minghao looked up at the sky and asked the sky to open up.

Rain poured heavily on the ground. It soaked the village and quickly put out the small fire. Minghao guided the rain away from the houses and into the river instead. He stayed painted against the sky until the river filled completely.

When he dropped back to earth, the entire village had gathered. A few were crying at the sight of rain and the glory of their river returned. Many of them looked at him in fear. He was still the freak. He wasn’t going to allow that anymore. Minghao looked upon each one of them with his clouded white eyes. 

He said, “Let me help you.”


End file.
